


Work

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [11]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Blood, Blowjobs, Eye Trauma, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy on the floor couldn't last too much longer, judging by the amount of blood he'd sprayed onto the walls and floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work

**Author's Note:**

> I admit it, this is my favorite one so far. I liked writing the contrast between their work selves and how they are when they're alone. Blood and blowjobs for everyone!

The guy on the floor couldn't last too much longer, judging by the amount of blood he'd sprayed onto the walls and floor. Numbers watched as Wrench punched, kicked, and stomped on the fat man hog-tied on the floor with big, heavy boots. Every now and again Wrench would look to him, seeing if Numbers wanted him to stop his assault, but Numbers had no such intention. The blows continued, and Numbers turned to sit on a metal folding chair facing away from the action. In front of him were two more men, completely bound and hanging from hooks that hung from the ceiling. Wrench had been right, in addition to the excellent drainage system in the concrete floor, the hooks make interrogating a lot easier. They'd have to start using empty slaughterhouses more often.

“Your friend doesn't look like he's doing too well.” Numbers said casually to the two suspended men. “I hope one of you starts talking before he dies. Someone's got to take his place, you know.” He could hear the wet crack of ribs breaking, along with a weak sob behind him, and put on a faux grimace.

“Sounds like that hurt a lot.”

The one of the two men in front of him, a short middle aged man with a crew cut, was already crying, soft moans coming from a duct-taped mouth. The other, a younger man, was trying to put on a brave face, but his wide eyes gave him away. Numbers figured that the longest part of this job would probably be the clean up, he didn't expect these guys to hold out much longer.

“All I need is the name of the driver. That's it. You give it to me, and we're all done here. My friend and I go away forever and you never see us again... so long as you behave.” He unleashed a malicious smile, his teeth gleaming in the dim lighting. The younger man looked frantically at the older one, and Numbers knew immediately who would give him what he needed.

Numbers twisted in his seat to face Wrench. He was leaning against the wall, panting slightly. The bloody man at his feet didn't move. Wrench flipped over his open palm.

_Dead._

Numbers gave a sharp nod, and turned back to face his captives.

“Oh, dear. Seems your friend has.... expired.” He contorted his face into an expression of mocking, faux-sadness. He could hear Wrench dragging the corpse unceremoniously towards a drain in the floor at the other side of the room. The middle aged man sobbed harder now. The kid's jeans suddenly grew a dark, wet patch, and dripped on the floor. It wasn't the first time Numbers had ever made anyone piss themselves, but it simultaneously disgusted and delighted him every time.

“If either of you would like to end our little playtime, now's the point where you should speak up.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Any takers?”

Both men remained silent. Whoever the driver was, he was scarier than Wrench and Numbers, but Numbers was determined to fix that. He strolled up to the older man, holding his tear stained cheeks in his hands. Bloodshot eyes met his, and he could feel the man quaking. Numbers brought his face closer to his, until they were nose to nose.

“Give me the name.” He hissed, being careful to expose his teeth fully with every vowel. The sweaty man shook his head violently. Numbers sighed in exasperation, and pulled out a small pen knife. He held it in front of his face for a minute, letting the light glint off of the blade. He smiled at the man in front of him before jamming the knife into his eye. Muffled screams filled the room as blood poured down his face and spattered on the floor. Numbers waited for the man to exhaust himself with his convulsing before grabbing the man by his bloody shirt and aligning himself in front of his remaining eye.

“Who.” It wasn't a question, but more like a one word statement that implied the other eye was in grave danger unless the identity of the truck thief was revealed. The wounded man shook his head violently, and without a moments hesitation, Numbers jammed his knife into the other eye. He ignored the screams and turned to face his partner, pointing at the bloodied, blinded middle aged man in front of him. Wrench strode across the room and lifted the man from his hook, dropping him on the hard concrete with a loud, wet thud, and dragging him by the rope that bound him back across the room into the existing pool of blood the first man had left. Numbers leaned against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with the younger man. For a few moments they watched Wrench beat and slice the man on the floor, one with an expression of terror, and the other one of admiration.

“There is no way you're getting paid enough to deal with this shit.” Numbers said to the tethered man next to him. He couldn't help but chuckle as his captive slowly shook his head, eyes never leaving Wrench and his blood-soaked human punching bag.

Numbers loved watching Wrench work. The sheer physicality of his personal brand of information gathering was brutal and savage, and it made Numbers hard. He felt a slow burning in the pit of his stomach, and his skin became hypersensitive, begging to be touched. He watched Wrench's boots come down on the man's ribs with intense force, and felt his face grow warm from lust. Wrench grabbed the man by what hair he had left and cracked his skull against the concrete floor a few times, leaving the man's face a dripping, bloody pulp. He pressed his fingers into the neck, and looked up at Numbers, giving him the familiar palm flip.

Numbers spun to face the remaining man. His eyes were wet, and Numbers could see that all resolve to keep the drivers secret was entirely gone. He ripped the tape off, and placed a finger under his chin, lifting his head so their eyes could meet.

“The name.” he purred softly.

“Vincent Hofstede.” the young man choked out, trying to swallow the sobs his body was obviously trying to produce.

“Vincent Hofstede. Where is he now?” Numbers held his gaze, entirely unblinking.

“I- I dunno, OK? He's got Montana license plates. Might be there.”

“You know the plate number?”

The man grew silent, and Numbers pulled out his bloody knife again, waving it in front of the man's nose.

“OK! OK! Jesus Christ, OK! I don't have it, but he parked in the east lot all the time, near the loading dock. There's cameras there. He was here yesterday, you can probably get the footage.”

“Good boy.” Numbers grinned and patted the side of his face, then jammed his knife into the side of his neck, pulling the blade towards himself and ripping out the man's throat. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating everything, including Numbers. There was no scream, only a wet gurgling noise of surprise. Numbers turned to Wrench.

 _You've got a little bit of blood on you._ Wrench snickered.

 _Fuck you, you're not faring much better._ Numbers pointed to Wrench's jeans, which were entirely spattered with blood up to the knees. He looked around the room, absentmindedly scratching his head. He was right, the cleanup was going to be the long part. He sighed heavily, and patted his beard dry with a towel he had shoved into his black leather bag.

_Gotta go upstairs and find the security footage._

_We get what we need?_

_Yeah, and we may have caught a break as to where to find him._

_Excellent._

Both men wandered the empty building until they found the security office. Numbers combed through computer files and vhs tapes, looking for a glimpse of the car. As soon as he found it, he grinned devilishly and tapped Wrench on the shoulder.

_Got him. His plate starts with 10._

_Why does that matter?_

_In Montana, the first numbers correspond with what county you're in._

_How do you know that?_

_I read._

_You can read?!_ Wrench feigned surprise, which earned him a punch to the shoulder. Wrench couldn't help but laugh at that.

_Was that supposed to hurt? I've been throwing harder punches all night._

_Fuck you._

Wrench suddenly pulled on the back of the rolling office chair Numbers was seated in, rolling him away from the desk, and stepping out to stand right in front of him. Numbers shrugged his shoulders with upturned palms.

_What?_

_I saw you watching me. I saw you pop a fucking boner while I beat those guys to death. Don't even try to deny it. You're still a little hard even now, aren't you?_ Numbers felt a blush creep across his cheeks. Wrench leaned down and placed his hand gently on the crotch of Numbers' trousers, a sly grin creeping across his face.

 _You fucking pervert. You wanna fuck me, even though I'm covered in blood and brains. Don't you?_ Wrench watched Numbers fidget and bite his lip, and knew that he had him right where he wanted him. _So go on. Fuck me._ Wrench unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his thick cock, waggling it in Numbers' face.

Numbers felt breathless as he took Wrench's cock into his mouth, trying to remember what it was that Wrench had done in the past that had felt so good. He wrapped his lips around Wrench's shaft, sucking and bobbing his head up and down, occasionally bumping his nose against Wrench's groin. He loved the taste, that musty, salty, slightly sour flavor that only came from cock. He slurped loudly, and began pumping the base of Wrench's cock with one free hand while gently rolling his balls in the palm of his other hand. He felt Wrench grab and pull at his hair, and for the first time in his life, didn't give a shit if his partner mussed it up. He licked a stripe up from the base of Wrench's cock to the head, and eagerly tried to take all of Wrench's length into his mouth. He gagged loudly, but attempted it again. After a few tries, he was able to relax enough to allow Wrench to fuck his throat. Numbers could hear his partner panting and groaning above him, and it was sweeter than any music he had ever heard. Without warning, hot, salty cum filled his mouth as Wrench tightened his grip on Numbers' shoulder. Wrench pulled back, and Numbers could see he was flushed and panting.

_Let me see._

Numbers stuck out his white-coated tongue, and Wrench beamed at him while tucking his cock back into his pants.

_You're pretty good at that. A natural born cocksucker if I've ever seen one._

Numbers laughed and flipped him off.

_Come on, let's clean this place up. I wanna go home._

_You always want to go home. _Wrench rolled his eyes.

_Yeah, because unlike motels my bed is soft and my shower is large and I don't have to hear you snore a foot away from me._

_Just you wait until we live together._

“Wait, what?” Wrench couldn't hear him, he was already headed out the office door, smirking at the mental image of the surprised face he assumed Numbers was making.

 

 

 

 


End file.
